I am Jack
by Deej1
Summary: Demon: The Fallen. Written to get into my character, Jack, a slayer who has taken over the body of a cop.
1. I am Jack

Authors Notes: Ok so I've never even roleplayed. But my friends invited me to a character creating session for Demon: The Fallen and it seemed like fun. I went away and wanted to get into the feel of my character by writing her a bit and that's what I did. So I've never played and have limited knowledge of the world which means it might not be greatly accurate. I hope you can appreciate it anyway, especially since I couldn't find any Demon: The Fallen fanfics at fanfiction.net. Cheers (  
  
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So I walk into the Police Station at 9am. This is a pretty damn special thing to do for someone who has just died.  
  
Warren Beady looks up and sees me first. He says, "Shit Jack. What are you doing back already?" He's right too. Most people take more than two days off when they get shot in the shoulder. I wasn't shot in the shoulder. I was shot twice in the heart. Warren doesn't know that.  
  
Nobody does except the fucker who shot me.  
  
Well, except, it wasn't me. Not really. I wasn't shot - Jack was. She got herself in it ass deep, again.  
  
I know why I was attracted to Jack. It's because she keeps going. She's seen enough to know that the bad guys aren't always where they are supposed to be - hell sometimes you find yourself working for them. But she keeps going, why? I'm closer to Jack than anyone will ever be, and I still don't know.  
  
She says it's the principle of the thing. Or something.  
  
Warren is still looking at me. I've spent the last couple of thousand years in the burning fires of hell, so a little bullet wound is not exactly tormenting me. But I can't tell him that.  
  
This is what I know about Warren Beady. He's the closest thing I have to a friend. He's a member of my team. We are the ones who take the murder cases. Anything that includes a dead body comes to us first.  
  
Jack cannot have a lot of friends. I would take a bullet for Beady, but I couldn't give him a social call after hours.  
  
Daniel, 'Dan the Man' Owens comes over. He is also on my team. He says loudly, "Hey Jack! You heard we had a new case? I thought you were a little tied up right now." He looks pointedly at my arm, which is still in a sling.  
  
I don't know why, but for some reason I like Owens too. This is especially intriguing because I also find him more annoying than late night teleshopping commercials.  
  
I shoot him the biggest greasy I can muster. I can't have quite mastered the art of looking human yet, because Owens actually takes a step backwards. I wish I could say I look intimidating, but I know that's not the case. Jack is 5'5''. She has long dark blonde hair pulled up and out of the way, and she looks too pretty to be a cop. There are teddy bears that are more intimidating. This is probably why she gets in so much trouble.  
  
Owens puts his hands up, showing me his palms, "Wooooah cool it Dean. Haven't you had your coffee yet? I hope that's not your coffee mug hand!"  
  
It is but I don't tell Owens that.  
  
I head over to the expresso machine. Jack's caffeine addiction hits me full in the face and it smells like coffee. A thick unappetizing sludge slops down into my mug, Jack's mug. I think I have seen more appealing things to consume in hell. The words on the mug say, "God must love stupid people. He made so many." It amuses me. I laugh, I actually laugh. I can't remember the last time I laughed. Being tortured in hell will do that to you.  
  
Don Burke looks up now. The boss. He throws me a displeased glance but doesn't say anything. He doesn't think I should be here either but he's not going to say anything because he's short staffed as it is.  
  
Good. Because I'm not leaving. I know why I am Jacky Dean, and not someone else. Jack is a cop. The whole world is in the shit hole, and it's all our fault. We did it. I did it. I should still be in hell, but I'm not, and I don't know why. But I do know that I can't just sit by. I have to do something about it. I did it and now I have to fix it. This sucks on a supernatural level.  
  
It's not particularly fair. Nobody ever asked Jack if she was ok with her body being overtaken by a demon when she died. They don't make organ donation cards for that. But I figure this is her only chance at life. It's this or death, I tell myself. Somehow I know that wouldn't quite placate Dean.  
  
I am what I am. And I am a demon.  
  
And now I am Jack. 


	2. Not Fine

Fred Masters died screaming. His mouth is closed, his eyes are glazed. He is staring off into space. So how do I know this? I just do. I know all about death. It was my job.  
  
I don't remember much of what happened before hell, but I know what I was and why I did it. Why I became a part of the rebellion. I remember because I have thought about it every day for the last thousand years.  
  
I wish I could say I did it from love of mankind, but that would be a lie. I am no martyr. My reasons were purely selfish.  
  
Nobody likes the creature that takes away their loved ones. Death is the bad guy. The Grim Reaper is evil. That skeleton in the cloak with the scythe. I promise you I don't look like that.  
  
I don't know what I was thinking. That maybe if I sided with Lucifer I wouldn't have to do it anymore? I wouldn't have to take any more lives.  
  
I helped screw up the world because I wanted to be fucking liked. The moral of the story? Always know the lesser evil. I don't deserve to be liked.  
  
Warren looks at the body and says, "It looks like a bear attack." Fred's body is ravaged. There are rips down his chest big enough to be a bloody elephant with claws. His left arm has been ripped out of its socket and is lying a few feet away. His body is twisted, his spine is broken, and he is staring up at the heavens with dead eyes.  
  
It does look like a bear attack, but it isn't. We are an hour out of the city. The land is only just turning to forest. It's still too close. No bear comes this close.  
  
Besides I know what did it, and it wasn't a bear.  
  
I've bent down towards the body. I don't know why but for some reason I can't let them go on thinking it was a bear. It would be the smart thing to do, but I just can't do it.  
  
I peel away Fred Masters' flannel shirt and we can all see it. The claw rips down his front were done to hide it. There are several slices in Fred's body where he has been stabbed with a knife. Or a sword, they are that big.  
  
"Go Jack!" says Owens, "You just had to find an excuse to take his shirt off didn't you."  
  
I roll my eyes and retort, "Better his than yours." Owens pretends to be hurt.  
  
Fred Masters is over forty. He is almost bald, has labourer's hands, and he is dead. He's not exactly my type. Do I have a type?  
  
"Damn," says Burke, eyeing the body. He doesn't want another murder on our hands. I don't blame him.  
  
I know exactly what I have to do now. I don't like it, but I have to do it. I have to find the thing that killed Fred Masters, and I have to send it straight back to where it came from. I have to send it to hell. Because it is just like me.  
  
I step away from the body and off into the bushes. It probably looks like I am going off to puke, but I don't care. If they think that, the guys will leave me alone. I need privacy for what I am about to do.  
  
I send my senses out of my body and search for the spirit of Fred Masters. If you want to know who killed someone, the easiest thing to do is to ask them. Fred Masters was mauled, terrorized. That stuff tends to stick with you. I should know.  
  
Fred Masters is trying to elude me. He is one bitch of a spirit to find. It's probably got something to do with the mode of death. But I'll nab him. I'm good at what I do. What I do is death and I am good at it.  
  
Fred Masters spirit is not as broken as his body. At least not the physical manifestation I see. Being ripped to shreds is bound to leave mental scars.  
  
Anything human that came across me now would not see what I am seeing. They would see me talking to thin air. I don't need to look any more nuts than I am. Hence, privacy.  
  
Masters floats there forlornly. Does he even know he is dead yet? Sometimes they don't know. That is the worst. Once it was my job to tell them.  
  
"Who killed you Fred Masters?" I ask him. His spirit looks like it is about to fall apart. I know he is supernaturally wounded. Damn. I won't get much information out of him.  
  
"Who killed you?" The question is more forceful, demanding. Fred opens his mouth. The real Fred couldn't open his mouth. There isn't much of it left.  
  
"Valadheir." It's an angelic name. How does he know it? Has someone been revealing themselves to the humans? I don't like what this portends.  
  
"Hey Jack you alright?" It's Warren Beady. He's looking at me strangely. I think he heard me ask Fred the second time. Damn again.  
  
I flash him a weak smile, "I'll be fine." It's not true, but it seems to appease him. He nods and heads back through the underbrush towards the body.  
  
Too bad I have lost Fred in that moment. I don't think I can call him back to me again. If I could would he be any use anyway? I am going to find Valadheir.  
  
I am dead. I am so not fine. 


	3. Obsessed with God

Burke slides a photo across the desk. There's a girl in the picture. She's in her early twenties, strawberry blonde, and looks like a supermodel. She's smiling so hard I can't believe I'm not blinded.  
  
Owens is sitting next to me. He wolf-whistles, "Do we have her number?"  
  
Burke gives him a dirty look, but Owens is too used to it to care. I memorise the face and then slide the photo to Owens.  
  
"For you," I tell him, but I say it as though he is going to be doing something dirty with it later. Daniel Owens just grins. I know this is how he and Jack used to converse. Now I am doing it, because I am Jack. I am still not used to that concept.  
  
"Who is she?" I ask Burke the Boss.  
  
"Fred Masters girlfriend."  
  
"No shit!?" How does Fred Masters end up with a girl like that? "She's half his age!" Burke just shrugs. I think he's given up being surprised by people. I've lived a lot longer than he has, I should have given up too.  
  
"She's the last person to see Masters," he says.  
  
"So you want us to go see her." Burke shrugs and nods. He's a man of few words. He hasn't exactly told us very much.  
  
"Did Masters have money?" I ask. I want to know this before I go and question his girlfriend. I want to know if Don Burke thinks she killed Masters for the money.  
  
"I have more money than he did." That is saying something. We are paid poor pittance.  
  
So I am standing outside the apartment of Janette Hastings. Daniel Owens is standing next to me. A part of me wishes it was Warren. He is slightly more classy than Owens. I don't know what Warren is doing.  
  
Janette Hastings is on the fourth floor. She opens the door and blinks at us through bleary, bed eyes. She is dressed in a pink fuzzy robe. It's 1pm in the afternoon and she has been sleeping.  
  
"Police," says Owens, and flashes his badge. I find mine too and show her but she is already letting us in. She leads us into the lounge on the right. The room is done in purple and white. It is colour coordinated.  
  
I can picture blood splayed across the room's perfectness. It would look almost like modern art. I shouldn't be doing that.  
  
There is a full bar at the end of the room. The fireplace is decorated in a small tasteful piece of christmas tinsel. The furniture is too good for someone who is only about 22. Everything is too snazzy. How she can afford all this I would love to know.  
  
She catches me looking and says defensively, "So I'm a stripper." That explains the late night. It might even explain why she's dating Fred Masters. The deceased Fred Masters. I don't know yet.  
  
"Do you know why we're here Ms. Hastings?" I ask her. Owens sits in a royal purple plush sofa and I sit next to him. We haven't been offered coffee yet. I want to be offered coffee.  
  
Janette looks across at me with those puffy eyes. Oh shit she's been crying. I don't know what to do with crying. Please oh please Ms. Hastings keep it together.  
  
"Fred is dead," she says. Her lower lip quivers. The statement rhymes and it sounds funny coming out of her mouth. I almost want to laugh again but that would not look good. Besides I am not really happy.  
  
"We came to talk to you about your husband Ms. Hastings."  
  
"Fred and I weren't married." I know that. She looks confused. I am testing. I am hoping she'll explain their relationship further but she doesn't. I sound so cold and formal. It's just death. I have seen death a lot. Even Jack is cut off.  
  
"You were the last person reported to have seen him alive." For just a few seconds Janette Hastings blinks in surprise. Fortunately I have caught it.  
  
"Oh," she says, "he left here at eleven."  
  
"What time did he get here."  
  
"Five." She starts to blush and even that looks pretty on Janette Hastings. It takes me a minute to figure out why she is blushing. She's hoping I'm not going to ask what they were doing. She's hoping I won't ask because they were fucking.  
  
A bright red starts creeping up my skin too. I know it because I can feel it. Shit. I am an angel of death and I am blushing because a stripper had sex with her boyfriend. What is wrong with me?  
  
Owens looks at me and I have to cover my embarrassment. He'll never let me live this down.  
  
"Was Mr. Masters aware of the work that you do?" I ask Janette.  
  
She frowns, "Yes." She's still not giving me anything. She's giving me too little, enough to make me suspicious.  
  
"Was he. happy with your choice of profession?" I have to pry further. Maybe she'll snap. I am trying to break a grieving woman. Obviously, as a demon, I have come far. Not.  
  
"Pardon?" Janette is starting to look angry, but she's keeping it in well. She doesn't like what I'm insinuating either. If I change tact quickly, I can confuse her. Too many questions at once and maybe she'll let something slip. Like what she knows about who Fred went to visit after 11pm last night.  
  
"There's a significant age difference between you and your boyfriend Ms. Hastings."  
  
"There's nothing wrong with that!" Nope. Not even. Each their own. But I am going to find the thing that killed Fred Masters, and if Janette Hastings knows anything, then hell, no mercy.  
  
"C'mon Jack give the girl a break." I know what Owens is doing. He is playing good cop bad cop. Guess which one I am. I am an angel of death. It is only fitting.  
  
I change tact again. It looks like Owens has temporarily gotten me to behave. "Do you know of anyone who may have had a grudge against your boyfriend?" Janette holds her dislike of me at bay and takes the time to think about it. What a saint.  
  
"I don't know anyone who would want to hurt Freddie," she says, "Except."  
  
"Except what Ms. Hastings?"  
  
"I have a stalker." She reveals it as though she is finally letting a weight off her back. Maybe she has told no one. Maybe he has threatened her about going to the police. Maybe she's just a little drama queen. Maybe there isn't even a stalker. I can't read her well enough. I think she is telling the truth.  
  
Janette is angry. "You don't have to look so bloody disappointed that it isn't me," she accuses.  
  
"I did not mean to give such a look," I apologise. It sounds hollow even in my ears.  
  
"Tell us more about your stalker Janette." Owens comforts the girl. I glare at him because I want to be the good cop. I am mature for a three thousand year old demon.  
  
Janette sniffs and her eyes brim over with tears. So much for keeping it together. "He's been following me for about a month," she confesses, "I don't know what he looks like, but I get calls, and letters. He knows where I've been, what I've done, who I'm with." She doesn't ask us for help though. I find that interesting.  
  
"Did you keep any of the letters Janette." She looks at me strangely because I'm not supposed to call her by her first name. That's right, I'm the bad cop, I forgot. As if.  
  
"Yeah." She gets up and leaves the room to get us the letters. I think Owens took a perve at her cleavage. I throw him a disgusted look and he has the grace to appear sheepish. Is this what I was fighting for?  
  
"Want to ask her what strip club she works for while you're at it?" Teasing Owens should be in my job description.  
  
"Jealous Jack?" Owens shoots back with a smile.  
  
"I prefer Fred, remember." Janette reenters the room. I think she heard my last statement. She has one of those looks on her face. I am not doing a very good job of making myself liked. What's new huh?  
  
She sits back in her one man sofa and thrusts a small pile of papers at me over the coffee table. Interesting that she hands them to me, even though she doesn't like me. I am in charge, and Owens is there for comforting. So she thinks.  
  
I shuffle through the letters. Owens has gotten up and perched himself on the arm of Janette's chair. He passes her a box of tissues. Janette murmurs a thankyou and dabs one at her eyes. Black masquara has rimmed them into dark puddles. If she wasn't wearing pink she would look gothic. I can't imagine her actually blowing her nose on a tissue. The action and the accompanying noise is too ungraceful, undignified, for beautiful Janette Hastings.  
  
The letters are typed. There will be no handwriting analysis. They are frighteningly cold. Handwriting is warm, personal. Print is not.  
  
The first one says, "God doesn't love you." That is all. No threat, no explanation, nothing. It is printed on a piece of folded card. There is no date, and no envelope. It was probably tossed out.  
  
The second one says: God doesn't love you, and now you die. From no threat to death threat. He's left no time for foreplay. Geez I am twisted.  
  
There are three more and they gradually get more violent. God doesn't love you. But I do. I will cut you open until the seas bleed with your life blood. Ok, I am not that twisted.  
  
I put the cards down on the coffee table. Face down.  
  
"Why haven't you contacted the police about this before?" I ask her. Janette dabs her eyes.  
  
"I don't know. I guess I hoped he would go away. I didn't take it seriously at first. I mean, you saw the first letter. The guy is a loony." Yeah I saw the first letter. If she didn't take it seriously, why does she still have it? Most people throw out the first letter. Didn't you know?  
  
"You said he sometimes calls you?"  
  
"Yes." We can organise to tap her phone and trace any future calls. I am taking this seriously. I think Janette is purposely providing us with a suspect, but I cannot afford to be wrong.  
  
And besides, the words of the letters are haunting me. God doesn't love you. I know who is obsessed with God.  
  
We are. 


	4. Moody Bitch

Warren Beady's bloodline is so mixed you can't tell what's in there anymore. His hair is black, and short, and he's about 5'8''. He has blue eyes. He's sitting across from me right now with the biggest fucking grin this side of Hollywood.  
  
"Geez Beady," Owens wisecracks, "I've never seen anyone smile that big. You finally lose your virginity?" Beady is still smiling, which means whatever it is, it is good.  
  
"I've got our murderer," he says.  
  
"Oh yeah?" Owens is skeptical. He plonks his ass down next to me, across the desk from Beady. We are being competitive. Isn't that quaint?  
  
"Yeah." We wait for him to tell us more and he doesn't. He just sits there, still grinning.  
  
"Are you going to tell us any time this century?" I ask. I don't like to be beaten.  
  
"Just taking my sweet time. A man's gotta gloat."  
  
I cross my arms, "Gloat on your own time. Not mine."  
  
"C'mon Jack, being shot in the arm has made you grumpy." That's not all it's made me. Beady, if you knew what I really was, you would run screaming. I've drained the life out of more people than you can conceive of. Now quit yapping and get to the point.  
  
The only thing I say is, "Beady. Spill."  
  
Beady shrugs and tries to look overly casual, "So the circus is in town, right?"  
  
"They are?"  
  
"Yeah. Circus of Stars: Masters of Mysteries of something. And they have everything. Bears, lions, tigers, dogs with little poofy tails. Hey they are more dangerous than they look. And this guy who swallows swords longer than my arm, I swear."  
  
"You mean we've been grilling a suspect all day whilst you go to the circus!" exclaims Owens, pretending to be pissed.  
  
"I thought a stripper would be more your kind of show Owens," Warren fires back. Owens inclines his head. He's run out of verbal ammo.  
  
I try to be more professional, "So you've got a motive?"  
  
Warren looks slightly uncomfortable. "No yet," he admits, and fidgets in his seat. Ha!  
  
"So you've got shit," I tell him. Aren't I just a nice friend.  
  
"Hey," Warren says defensively, "The minute we link Fred Masters to the Circus, this shit is going down."  
  
"What are you going to do, arrest the whole troupe?"  
  
"If I have to." Good luck with that.  
  
I shake my head, "You're an idiot." Beady looks hurt. I want to feel guilty but it's not my job to pamper him. Jack wouldn't have been so blunt. She would have thought it, but she wouldn't have been so blunt. I guess there is some of me in here after all.  
  
"Woah guys," says Owens, "chill." He is not used to us arguing. Maybe I am just pissed that Warren got better information than we did. Which is not true. There is still Janette's stalker.  
  
"D'you find anything?" Beady asks. He is trying to make amends. He doesn't understand what's come over me either. Why am I in an eternal grump? Because I am a supernaturally powerful demon and the only thing I can do right now is follow some pitiful human investigation procedure.  
  
Someone else is going to die. I can feel it.  
  
"Just your mamma," I tell Warren Beady. If I wasn't in such a bad mood, it might have been funny. Hell I am an angel of death. You ain't seen bad mood yet. 


	5. Late Night Phone Call

It's 2am and I'm woken out of a nightmare by the phone ringing. Before I was Jack I didn't have to sleep. I didn't have to dream. But before I was Jack I had to live out my nightmares. I can deal with a few sleeping visions.  
  
I pick up the phone and answer, "Dean here. Shoot." Can you tell I am not a social caller?  
  
Burke's voice filters over the line. He says, "Dean. It's Burke. Janette Hasting's stalker called." Don Burke and I are phone etiquette buddies. In that we have none.  
  
I don't sweat the missing small talk, "I'll be right in."  
  
"Good." Burke hangs up. Just like that. So do I. No point talking to an empty line.  
  
Janette Hastings is in the main office of the station. She is crying her eyes out and being consoled by a female member of the night shift. I ease past her without making eye contact, so that I don't have to become a part of that scene.  
  
Burke, Beady and Owens are all already in Burke's office. Jason Smith is on extended leave. The kind where you don't know if they're coming back. He was shot before I was. So now we are all here.  
  
Beady is half resting on the desk, next to a tape player. Burke is sitting in his chair. Owens is opposite him. I take the last free chair.  
  
Burke nods a welcome at me, "Beady, play the tape." We have a recording of the conversation between Janette Hastings and her stalker. If we have traced the call, it must have been a payphone and not a private line or Burke would have told me already.  
  
Beady reaches over and slots down the play button. I hope I am not the last to hear this.  
  
Static crackles through the room for the first few minutes. Then there is a loud clunk. Owens gets up and closes the door so that Janette Hastings does not have to hear it again.  
  
Janette's feminine voice says, "Hello?" She sounds almost breathy, excited. Because she has police on her side now?  
  
There is a moment of silence before the voice comes through. It is full of rough, jagged pain. Slicing fear. It is like a loud whisper that buzzes in my head. It is the voice of something more damned than I, and that is some achievement. If I thought my nightmares were bad before, they will be worse tonight. They will be filled with that voice.  
  
"God doesn't love you Janette."  
  
Again, silence. Janette is wondering what to do. The silence is deadly. There isn't even any heavy breathing. Only the distinct lack of dial tone indicates that he hasn't hung up.  
  
Janette says, "Who are you and what do you want?" There is fear in her voice, but there is also intrigue. Janette Hastings is as interested in her stalker as she is scared. Perhaps they can go on a fucking date later and get to know each other better.  
  
"God doesn't love you, but I do. I saw you tonight. You should wear the blue shirt Janette, it brings out your eyes. Save the red shirt for when you are dead."  
  
The breathing now is Janette's. She tries to calm herself, and says, "So you like my blue shirt?" It is the wrong thing to ask. She is trying to keep him on the phone and he knows it now. There is a second of silence, and then dial tone. He has hung up. There's another click as Janette drops the receiver.  
  
"You called me all the way in for that Burke?" I ask disgustedly. There's not enough to go on anything there. I could still be in bed.  
  
Burke looks at me and it is one of those looks. Something warbles up inside of me that wants to tell him he has no right to judge me. But I am one of those who made him live with our sins. So I am going to say nothing.  
  
"There's been a disturbance at the Circus," Burke tells me, "Beady thought you might like to go with him to check it out."  
  
I look at Beady before it is too late to curb my glance. He is doing this because he is my friend and he thinks I am mad at him. Even Jack is surprised. I am being a moody bitch and Jack's friends like me more. That doesn't make sense.  
  
"What's Owens doing?" I ask, as if it is any of my business.  
  
"He will be escorting Miss Hastings home. She is in his protection for tonight." My eyes flicker to Owen. I am expecting him to look very pleased with himself, but in fact he is solemn.  
  
That is a new one. I didn't know he had that setting. 


	6. Circus of the Stars

The Circus of the Stars has one big main tent, and two smaller ones. There is a whole row of trailers and animal cages at the back. It is flooded with yellow lamp-light. The bigger tent is composed of red and white stripes and it is alive. We are driving down a hill towards the main entrance.  
  
"Did someone die tonight?" I ask Beady.  
  
"Not yet," he says.  
  
"Then why are we here?"  
  
Warren just smiles grimly and replies, "You'll see."  
  
We drive through the main gates into the parking lot. There are tyre tracks all over the place, and now that we are closer I can see that there is a tear in the side of the tent. There was excitement here a few hours ago. It must have been some show.  
  
We head over to the main tent. There is some muscle standing guard.  
  
Beady shows his badge and says, "We're here to see Devon Rayne."  
  
The big guy inclines his head, "He's in the second tent." I decide that the guy is all visual with nothing to back it up, and that I could take him if I really wanted to. This makes me feel good. I pretend to forget how pathetic it is.  
  
Beady and I enter the second tent. It is much smaller, only room size. A flash of blonde hair is falling over a full ledger. Devon Rayne's desk is so elegantly tidy, you wonder if he can ever possibly use it. Mine always looks like a bomb has hit it.  
  
Devon looks up at us and then stands. He matches his desk. His hair is white gold and falls in waves just past his shoulder. His eyes are dark, mesmerising. His high cheekbones give him an exotic appearance.  
  
The clothes he is wearing do not do much to dissuade the image. He has on a white shirt with a stiff colour and gold braid buttons. He is wearing a black coat with royal purple lining. The shirt is loosely tucked into tight black jeans. If he turns around I know I will not be able to resist looking at his ass. Blame it on my human side.  
  
He holds out his hand to Warren, "A pleasure to see you again Officer Beady." They shake hands. I presume they met earlier in the day when Beady was here. I sincerely doubt it is really a pleasure to see him again so soon.  
  
Devon turns to me, "And who is this beautiful woman?"  
  
I am pretty enough to be patted on the head and told I am a good girl, but I am not pretty enough to be beautiful. I pretend I haven't heard what he's said and use my very best gruff voice, "I'm Jack Dean." I emphasise the 'Jack' because it sounds like a boy's name. I have a feeling if I gave Devon Rayne my full name, Jacqueline, he would use it, and I don't want him to use it.  
  
I offer him my hand to shake. I am going to grip his hand so hard there is no way he cannot believe I am not masculine.  
  
Devon Rayne takes my hand and turns it palm down. He bends over and kisses my fingers in full-blown gentleman fashion. If I wasn't too busy being surprised I would pull my hand away.  
  
"A pleasure," he repeats in a murmur. Devon Rayne seems to find a lot to be pleased about.  
  
If he thinks I am going to get all girly just because he kissed my hand, he is wrong.  
  
Devon waves a hand at the two empty seats and we sit. He reseats himself now that we are sitting.  
  
"Where were you last night Mr. Rayne?" Beady asks. We have finished with niceties already.  
  
Devon Rayne looks surprised that he's asked. He says, "I was here all night Mr. Beady. May I ask why?"  
  
"Now you know we had a bear attack last night," says Beady. Oh does he. When did you let that particular detail slip Warren? Stop telling everything to our suspects.  
  
"Yes, that you did," Devon agrees. He learns back in his chair and opens his arms. He is trying to appear submissive and dominant at the same time. All at once my senses flare.  
  
Suddenly Devon Rayne is the most honest man I know. I have never met anyone more friendly, more open. There is no way he can be the murderer we are searching for, it is just physically impossible. The man is a halo short of a saint.  
  
Shit. What am I thinking!?  
  
I manage to pull my eyes away from Devon's physical and spiritual beauty long enough to tune in to what he is saying.  
  
"I realise how bad this must look for me Mr. Beady, but what can I say? The bear attack last night is purely coincidence. None of my animals has ever gotten out of control before now. I have a record so clean you can eat off of it. I have of course, immediately had the creature put down."  
  
Rayne looks so radiantly sad when he says it. I look at Beady to see if he is buying this shit, and damnit, he is. He doesn't know what he's feeling is not real. He thinks Devon Rayne is as pure as the Pope. I know how pure the Pope really is.  
  
"Why did you have the animal put down Mr. Rayne?" I ask. Devon Rayne's gaze turns on me. His eyes are boring under my skin. Whatever he is trying to do to me, it is not working. When he figures that out, he is probably going to be angry. I wonder if I can get Warren Beady out of the tent before two supernatural beasties break out in a blood fight.  
  
Devon Rayne says, "Once they get a taste for blood, they will usually try for it again." I catch on fast. One of Devon Rayne's circus animals has gone wild earlier this evening. Probably a bear. This does not look good for him when only the night before a man was killed in a similar manner. Beady said no one was killed tonight.  
  
"Do you think one of your animals had a taste of blood last night Mr. Rayne?" I ask it in a very patronising voice and meet his eyes as I do it. I am feeling particularly strong-willed tonight.  
  
Devon Rayne is continuing to look at me with his dark eyes. I am going to get mesmerised if I keep looking at them but I don't want to look away first. Suddenly a small smile tugs at the corners of his mouth. He thinks I am amusing.  
  
He pushes violently at me with all his power. If I wasn't sitting down it would force me to my knees. I am in trouble. He is a lot more powerful than I am. Shit! I am not going to let him kill me. I am not going to go back to hell!  
  
But it is not that kind of force. It is the power of lust, pure and simple. Devon Rayne looks like a greek god. He smells divine. The smallest movement of muscles is food for my eyes. My skin is crawling with so much desire that I am having trouble breathing. If he turns around now I am going to do more than simply stare at his ass. I am probably going to kiss it until he takes me on the table.  
  
I clench the armrests so hard that the metal creaks, "Stop it."  
  
"Stop what Ms. Dean?"  
  
"I said stop it. Fucking stop it now!"  
  
All of his power falls away in less than two seconds. I cannot be foolish enough to believe I have won. He has let me have this round, because he wants me to know I am too insignificant to hold up my own against him.  
  
I am doubled over in my chair, one palm clutching onto his desk. I am gulping in air as though it is the only thing between myself and death. Beady is still staring off with glazed eyes. He has missed our performance.  
  
"You've made your point," I tell Rayne. Or perhaps I should call him Valadheir.  
  
"What was my point Ms. Dean?"  
  
"You're a hell of a lot stronger than I am."  
  
Devon Rayne leans back in his chair and crosses one leg over the other. "I've been here a lot longer than you have Ms. Dean."  
  
I am sick of hearing my last name, "Call me Jack."  
  
Devon's mouth twitches, "If that's what you want."  
  
I muster all of my courage and shoot Rayne the biggest evil I can manage whilst still doubled over, "Are you going to kill Janette Hastings as well?"  
  
Devon's eyes go very round. "Has she done something to merit my attention?" he asks. His voice is very innocent, pure, but it is not mocking.  
  
His answer completely throws me off. I don't know what I am going to say next. Finally I tell him lamely, "You've been stalking her."  
  
Devon takes a minute, and then laughs. His laughter sounds like chocolate for the ears. It is that tasty. "Have I? I hope I've been enjoying myself."  
  
I look up at him. Fuck. He doesn't know what I'm talking about. He doesn't even know who Janette Hastings is.  
  
"You did kill Fred Masters?"  
  
Devon leans forward and puts his palms on the desk. He is very intent on me now. Warren Beady is forgotten.  
  
"I covered it up," he tells me, "We cannot be exposed to the human race. I admit I may have been a little overconfident in my control of my animals. I am no devourer."  
  
"Who did it?" I ask. I have to know this. I am not powerful enough to beat Devon Rayne, but maybe I can beat the real killer.  
  
"You'll have to find that out Ms. Dean," he tells me, "I do not know." I don't think he is going to help me either.  
  
I have to be verbally defiant. It is the only thing I can do.  
  
"I said call me Jack."  
  
His lip twists in amusement again, and he says, "Jack."  
  
I have come here to make amends, but I wonder what Devon Rayne has come here for. Somehow I don't think it is to pay for his crimes. 


	7. Second Kill

There is another dead body. I knew this would happen.  
  
Don Burke prods the body. It has not been covered up like the last one. It is lying down an alley of the CBD. There are still claw marks on it, but they are smaller. Man-sized.  
  
"So what's our connection?" asks Beady. We know that there is one, just not what it is. I know what it is.  
  
Burke is wearing plastic gloves. He pulls the dead man's wallet out of its coat and flips it open. He hands Beady a card. It has a nearly naked woman on it and a name. It is the name of Janette Hastings strip club.  
  
"We can pin him at the club when Ms. Hastings was there."  
  
Janette Hastings is our link. She is being stalked by a demon. I think I know why. He is killing everyone but her, and she's the one that he's threatening. He doesn't want to kill her. She believes that he will, but it is not what he wants. He is feeding on her fear.  
  
When she is no longer any use to him, when she is no longer afraid, that is when he will kill her.  
  
We turn the body over. There are knife wounds on this victim too but they are smaller. It is like everything about this kill has been shrunk down. Killing Tim Bullen was not as important as killing Fred Masters.  
  
We are about four blocks from the strip club. Burke and Beady are here but Owens is missing.  
  
"Where's Owens?" I ask.  
  
"He is still with Miss Hastings," Burke replies. He is too busy inspecting the body to look at me.  
  
A sudden chill has come over me. I have a bad feeling like you will never believe. Janette Hastings is interested in her killer. She wants to know who he is. It will take a big kill, to keep her afraid.  
  
All the men that surround her are dying.  
  
"Shit! Owens!" I make a dash for the car. Burke looks up from the body surprised. Beady takes a second but he figures out what I'm doing. He has a mobile phone in his hand before I am half way to my car. He calls out across the street as I fling open the door.  
  
"Dean. There's no answer."  
  
I could already be too late. Burke and Beady would come with me if they weren't already tied up. They will follow me later. I am on my own. I am about to go face Janette Hastings stalker and I am on my own.  
  
Just me, and both of my guns. 


	8. Death

The door to Janette's apartment is open. I am holding a Glock 19, semi compact, 9mm as I slide in through the opening. I don't know if it is going to stop one of us, but I think if I can kill the body I can force it to leave. The other way would be to get in a priest but it is probably too much to ask the Father to stop at me afterwards.  
  
I am not going back to hell.  
  
There is also a Sig-Sauer P230 on my shoulder holster. The Glock came from my hip holster. The Glock has more rounds.  
  
I slide into the entrance hall and peer around. Nothing looks out of the ordinary yet. Well, apart from the open door.  
  
The phone in the other room rings and I jump so high I nearly hit the friggen roof. I land with a thump. Everything within three floors of me now knows that I'm here. Thanks Beady. I'm sure it was him.  
  
The ringing dies out. There is a small thump from down the hall.  
  
I haven't been further than the living room, so I don't know the layout. It seemed to come from a room on the left. I skirt down the hallway. My heart is pounding so loud I can hear it. I can't seem to breathe enough air into my lungs.  
  
I point the bad end of my Glock into the lounge room when I reach it. The room is empty, but the couch is turned over and all of the glass in the bar is broken. The room smells like alcohol. Half a dozen different colours of drink have stained into the carpet.  
  
There is a red liquid dripping off the corner of the coffee table, but I don't think it is wine.  
  
This is what I see. Owens is comforting Janette, probably spotting more cleavage. Both of their backs are to the door. The assailant comes in and whoomps Owens from behind. Owens falls forward and smacks his head on the coffee table. Janette screams and backs up to the far corner of the room. Her stalker follows her.  
  
Owens gets up and fires at the guy. He empties his gun, hitting mostly glasswear. If he's lucky he might have wounded the demon. But he has done enough to shift its attention back away from Janette. It probably goes after Owens and gets him. Janette has either run or been taken too. I think it's still here.  
  
It can hear me breathing.  
  
I'm nearly at the doorway that I think it is behind.  
  
"Dalanheim." It is that voice. The voice from the phone. How does it know my name?  
  
"I can feel your fear Dalanheim." It slithers down my spine. The voice is coming from that room. Something slides across the wall right next to me, in the direction of the doorway. It is coming for me.  
  
I am letting this thing get to me too much. I have lived through worse things than it can ever do to me. It is the part of me that is Jack that is afraid.  
  
"I have a bullet with your name on it," I whisper through the wall. I am quenching my fear. That makes it angry.  
  
It bursts out at the end of the hallway. I have to do a minor back pedal, reel in confusion. It looks exactly like me.  
  
Not Jack me. Me me.  
  
I am standing in the hallway, looking at myself. I am as pale as ivory, blonde hair whipping out in silent wind. There are giant, black raven's wings on my back. The eyes are swirls of gray black.  
  
But it is not quite me. It is a me that is tortured beyond all recognition. It is a me that wants only to reap from the living. It is a me that I fear in all my worst nightmares.  
  
I fire the Glock into myself and it just keeps coming.  
  
Hit the heart, hit the heart. Am I doing any damage? Fuck what do I do?  
  
I've emptied seven rounds into my own chest. How's that for twisted.  
  
There's a loud boom from the other end of the hallway. Blood spatters all over the hall. One of my arms has been blown off the rest of my body. There is a hole in my wing big enough to see through. Janette Hastings is on the other side holding a shotgun.  
  
The image of me shatters. A screaming, fiery creature is pelting towards me. It has flaming red hair and skin as black as coal. It is surrounded in fire and it is coming right at me.  
  
I throw myself to the side and it keeps going. It brushes along my side and my skin peels and blisters there. It runs shrieking from the apartment with only one arm.  
  
I turn to Janette Hastings. She drops the gun she is holding and slides down the rear wall. She leaves a bloody mark as she goes.  
  
I stare at her chest. There's not much of it left. Pure adrenalin got her this far. It won't get her much further.  
  
She looks at me with scared eyes because she knows she is dying.  
  
"Where's Owens?"  
  
She opens her lips to reply to me, but she can't get out a word. Janette Hastings just stares at me. She points a finger at the other room.  
  
I have to go. I have to go and see Owens. But he is probably dead, if Janette is anything to go by. If I leave her now she will die alone.  
  
I can't leave her now.  
  
I take her hand in my own, look into her eyes.  
  
I say, "There is nothing to be afraid of." Her eyes go round and liquid. She is on the brink of death and she knows what I am. Her hand tightens in mine. She wants me to take away her pain.  
  
"Do not believe what he says. God loves you. Go in peace." I don't know if it is true, but it seems to make her happy. The light dies in Janette's eyes. I can feel her spirit leaving her body. I am going to let it go.  
  
I take my hand out of hers and bolt into the bedroom. Daniel Owens is crumpled across a flowery bedspread. He is bleeding in so many places I don't know where to press down.  
  
I look for a heart beat. He's not dead yet, he's not allowed to be dead.  
  
I tip his head back, open his mouth, and breathe. I pump on his chest. There is blood all over my hands.  
  
Listen. Repeat the process. Was that a breath? Shit he is breathing. I have just given life, not taken it. That is something new for me.  
  
"Stay with me Owens."  
  
I race into the other room and call for an ambulance. I cannot save Janette Hastings but I am going to save Daniel Owens.  
  
And I don't care how powerful it is. I am going to stop the thing that did this to him. I might even go back to hell to do it. But I am going to take it with me. 


	9. Bruised Deep

I am the only one sitting in Daniel Owens' hospital room. I am sitting next to the bed he is in. Burke and Beady are busy on clean-up in Janette Hastings' apartment. They let me stay here.  
  
I don't love Daniel Owens. Some of the time I don't even like him. But he is my friend.  
  
I look like a mummy. My left arm is in a sling and my right arm is bandaged. There is some sort of cooling salve in the bandages to help with my burns. They hurt, but there are other things that hurt worse.  
  
I have called Devon Rayne and he walks in the door. He looks as good as before. His eyes travel across to Owens.  
  
Owens' brown hair is ruffled. He has bed hair. He is 5'6'', only just taller than me. He has brown eyes that never stop laughing. Except now. He is wearing blue hospital pajamas and looks like death warmed up. There are more scratches and bruises on him than there is unmarred skin. Many of them are deep.  
  
In that moment I feel sorry for humans. They are only mortal, and they have us to deal with. There are now two of our squad members in comas.  
  
Devon looks at me and says nothing.  
  
"Didn't you say you believed we should be keeping a low profile?" I ask him. My voice is low and sullen. I am taking in every scratch on Owens' body and making it a personal vendetta.  
  
I haven't even been in this body a week.  
  
"I did say that," Devon agrees, just as solemn.  
  
I meet his eyes. I know mine are angry now. Raging. "Does this look like fucking low profile!?"  
  
Devon rests a hand on the bed frame. "No, no it doesn't," he says.  
  
"You have to help me kill this thing." I am too fresh, too new. I haven't been here long enough. I cannot beat Janette's killer. But maybe Devon Rayne can. I know he is powerful. I have seen it, I have felt it.  
  
Devon says, "This one is almost as powerful as I am. Do you know what you are asking of me."  
  
"Yes. Yes I do."  
  
He asks me, "Why do you care so much about them."  
  
"You don't care?" It is a stupid question. We fought for mankind and were sent to hell as our punishment. Whichever way you look at it, we care.  
  
Devon gives an exaggerated sigh. He says, "Yes I care." I'm not sure his caring is the same as mine.  
  
He puts a hand on Owens. I try not to get agitated that he is touching my friend. Owens' colour changes. He looks slightly less deathly. Some of his cuts begin to heal over. I wonder if the change is real or not. I didn't think Rayne had the power to heal, but he has the power to change appearances.  
  
"Why did you do that?"  
  
"Why do you punish yourself?"  
  
"What do you mean?" I know what he means.  
  
"God made us the way we are, Jacqueline." Damn, he has found out my full name. "If he is truly perfect, and he has made us, then he can only have meant us to be flawed." I can't argue with his logic, but words can be misleading. I am not going to agree with him.  
  
Devon says, "I will help you destroy your killer." He pulls his hood up on his cloak, and doesn't look at me before he leaves. 


	10. One Needs Faith

I am leaning my back against a bar. There is a bloody Mary in my hands. Devon Rayne is next to me. He has a double shot of scotch on the rocks. I guess he needs it for what he is about to do.  
  
We are in the Gold Lion. Janette Hastings used to work here. I am pretending I haven't noticed where I am. Apart from the strippers, I must be the only thing female in the room.  
  
Fortunately I am hanging on the arm of Devon Rayne. Not quite literally, but where he goes I go. Devon is far too noticeably powerful for anyone to even think of hitting on me. It seeps out of his pores. He is doing it on purpose. He is trying to draw out Janette's stalker.  
  
We think this is his hunting ground.  
  
Warren Beady is across the bar, hiding under a pair of sunglasses. Both Devon and I are avoiding acknowledging him. We are trying not to give away his position, and his relationship to us.  
  
I have my Glock and my P230 but I don't exactly have a good firing arm. It's still in a bandage.  
  
Devon sips his scotch and waits. He is way too composed for someone who is probably about to die.  
  
I can feel it when Valadheir enters the room. I still don't know how Fred Masters knew his name, or why Janette was surprised that she was the last one to see him. I don't really care. I just want him gone.  
  
He is a 30 year old man, wearing a trench coat. He is still missing his arm. He is big, brawny. He overstands Devon Rayne by nearly a foot. I hope this is a wise idea. I know that it isn't.  
  
Devon's power is blazing, but this time it isn't directed at me. I recognise one of the men in the crowd, as the guy at the tent in the Circus. He's brought half his troupe along.  
  
Valadheir turns cold, angry eyes against us. "I am going to kill you this time." He is looking at me.  
  
"Now now, little namaru. Control your temper," Devon taunts with a passionless voice.  
  
Valadheir finally notices Devon. How he couldn't notice him before, I simply don't know. He says, "I'll show you my temper."  
  
He goes for Devon's scotch. Devon drops it so fast you would think it was poison. All the glass behind the bar explodes and shatters. Maybe that is what happened last time.  
  
Valadheir roars living flame. It won't bring his arm back.  
  
We both duck, but it lights up the bar. The bartender runs screaming into the night. His hair is on fire. So much for low profile.  
  
The room erupts into a mass of confusion. Everybody runs from the building. Everyone except us fools who are here to kill something immortal.  
  
Devon rolls back to his feet with pure fluid grace. I stumble around a bit first. The very air roars to life. It is darkness outside. The building shakes with a great roll of thunder. I hope that it is Devon doing that and not the other guy.  
  
I pull out my Glock and point it at the roaring creature before me. He is still in the middle of the room, ripping up everything in his path. The fire at the bar is spreading. A line of burning alcohol slips in my direction.  
  
I empty my barrel into the demon and it doesn't make a damned bit of difference. The walls shake with thunder again. Lightning crashes down so close it is blinding. All of the windows crash in. It is pelting with rain outside.  
  
The demon heads toward me and I pull out my P230. I know it is not going to do me any good.  
  
There is another loud boom and a table near Valadheir is blown half way across the room. Beady has a shotgun, I told him to bring it. I wish he had better aim.  
  
The thing looks around the room at us all. All of a sudden it looks like it might really lose.  
  
I still doubt it would but it doesn't agree.  
  
It doesn't want to risk hell either.  
  
It turns and runs toward the exit. Half of the room is on fire. Devon follows it out on the street.  
  
It has made a bad choice. Now it is outside in Devon's storm. The clouds are so low, so dark, so ominous, there's no way it is natural. Lightning snakes across and arches down. Valadheir shudders with the impact.  
  
He is almost living flame. One wonders what lightning can do. Apparently it has done enough. It is after all, a supernatural force.  
  
I hobble out into the street. Devon looks so pale. He turns into his followers and they surround him like water. I don't think he can do any more.  
  
It won't be enough.  
  
The demon is right near me, coming for me. I am an easier target than Devon right now.  
  
I click my P230 into its skull but it grabs me and shackles me at the wrists. It is still burning and now so am I. I scream into its hollow eyes.  
  
"God doesn't love you Dalanheim!" I don't know who God does or doesn't love. I don't blame him if it is not me. But I am not going to let you murder my friends.  
  
The lightning that has hit Valadheir has started something within his body. I can feel it. It is a slow death but it is there. It is something that I can grab on to.  
  
And I do. I pull at it, hard. I want to unravel his soul, if he has one. If I am going to hell, he is coming right with me. He growls at me, angry, but we are both dying now. I scream and spit in his face. He comes crashing down on top of me.  
  
There is a body on top of me, and it is burning, but it is not an angel. It is just a man. Valadheir has been forced from his body. One of three things can happen now. He could choose to take over another, he could become an inanimate form, or if I am lucky he'll be sucked back into hell.  
  
The rain pelts down on me and puts out the fire. I am burnt all over and covered in blood. I'm not sure, but I think I'm still alive.  
  
God, it's a miracle. If I didn't know he existed, I would learn to believe.  
  
He exists but this cannot be his doing. Valadheir is right. God doesn't love me.  
  
I get up out of the gutter. I cannot see Devon Rayne and his followers. They have gone to recuperate.  
  
I am suddenly so weak I cannot even hold myself up. Warren Beady appears out of the darkness. His shirt is ripped but otherwise he is unharmed. His arms reach out and keep me from falling down. There is concern in his eyes.  
  
"Jack? Jack!?"  
  
I am so drained. My body feels like lead. The world is turning black around me. I don't want to go back to hell.  
  
Something buzzes up in my body. A need that has to be filled. I don't know what it is, and I don't think I can control it.  
  
It spirals up through my skin, through my soul, and strikes out at Warren Beady. I wrench forcefully at his soul and there is a minor, metaphysical explosion. It is not on the physical plane. Warren staggers before he rights himself.  
  
I suddenly suspect I have done something that will bind us together for all time. Warren is looking at me strangely. Right now he knows I'm not human.  
  
"What did you just do to me?" he asks.  
  
"I don't know," I tell him truthfully. Whatever it is, I feel better already.  
  
He looks into my eyes as though he is searching for something. His eyes are dark and withdrawn. I don't know what he is looking for. Maybe he is looking for Jack.  
  
Whatever it is, he must find it. Because his eyes warm over once more. He helps me stand up, supports me with one arm. "Let's get out of here."  
  
I don't know what to say. I have just spiritually raped Warren Beady, and he is still my friend.  
  
I just don't know what to say.  
  
Somebody finally likes me. 


End file.
